Blue
by Baellen Wreiner
Summary: This is an original story about a boy named Blue and how he brought color into the town of Jemming as a young Artist capable of Shaping, a unique form of Art. Initially written for a commonwealth essay in my area. PLEASE READ.


This is a story written for the Commonwealth essay due next year under the title: Blue. Any resemblence to any book/tv series/character/movie etc. is purely coincidental. Enjoy.

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In the little town of Jemming, the citizens were orderly, functional and utterly and disgustingly precise. It was the law. The so-called Council of Jemming made these rules and this was what made Jemming into very effectively run society. There was no room for criminals, for mistakes, nor any room for outsiders. It was a closed society; barricaded by mountains in a constant state of blistering winters. There were only exact numbers, precise executions of actions and accurately run businesses and Craftes.

But if there was a flaw in the Great System designed by the Council to create a perfect society, it was that there was no such thing as color in Jemming. The people merely saw shades of grey, black and white. It was like constantly looking at an old photograph. And this brings us into the story of how Blue came to be in the little town of Jemming.

It started with a boy, soon to be a man. His name was Blue. And he lived with his father and sister in Jemming. Every household's mother was sent to the breeding factory after exactly 15 years from the time they were linked to a husband for 20 years until they retired to the Gardens. Blue was 15 and his batch's Pulchritude day was to arrive in another 5 days. It was a big day for him. Each year, exactly 26 babies-not one more, not one less-were adopted from the breeding centre on a special day, depending on how the dice rolled in the Council's hands. And this day was taken to be their Pulchritude day. This day was used for their Birth-Day celebrations each year (it was all taken to be the same), their Name-Sake day which was celebrated every 20 years, and most importantly, their Crafte Day, a day celebrated only once in their life in Jemming on their sixteenth Birth-Day and that would appoint them to their life-long task of fulfillment. Blue was excited. Everyone was. It was the only point in time they would be doing something they had no one to rely on. It unnerved them, knowing they were on their own and more prone to making mistakes, but in a town of no mistakes, Blue knew that his assignment would be perfect for him. As everything else was. The Council can't make mistakes, after all.

5 days had come and past. Blue's batch was seated according to their letters. The procedure was simple. Your letter would be called, a Certificate of Crafte presented as the Speaker shared each child's journey; their special_ tale_, and at the very end, leaving behind their initial mistakes to embark on a new one to embrace their newly assigned Crafte with the ending sentence, "Thank you for your childhood, …"

There were exactly 26 jobs, one for each child. Adil was first. She received the Crafte of Healer. Blue nodded and clapped along with the rest with the murmured chorus of "Congratulations". As Adil smiled and left the stage delicate hands clutching the Certificate to join her mentor, Blue readied himself to stand up, lightly gripping the edge of his wooden seat, excitement already taking hold of him.

"C." Cal stood up awkwardly, confusion clouding his eyes and hesitancy rooting him to the ground. Murmurs of unease and agitated, concerned faces stared at Blue curiously, making him uncomfortable and embarrassed. The Speaker looked up from her list, frowned and repeated, "C." Cal straightened and with a hurried backward glance at Blue, proceeded to the wooden stage. Blue continued looking at the ground, wave upon wave of shame and bewilderment still crashing over him; sound somehow seemingly muffled as his hand slipped into his pocket to touch a small folded piece of paper.

The Speaker continued reading from the list, her strong, sonorous lilting voice filling the Ceremonial Hall: "G.", "L.", "M…" Finally, as Blue recovered from the shock, snippets of her speech broke through his ears; "Vaon has been a wonderful child. He has…" Blue looked up; Vaon was his best mate. "…mistakes, but he has also learned. His bright, enthusiastic nature has given his Fifth Taker a pleasure to teach him as we watched him grow. We present to him the Crafte of Nurturer. Thank you for your childhood, Vaon." Vaon grinned broadly as he received the Certificate and bounded down the stairs. Catching Blue's eye, Vaon gave a thumbs up and mouthed "Good luck" before joining an Old Man.

Finally, as "Z." ended with Zand leaving the platform and Blue stranded all alone at his seat with everyone else at the other end of the Hall with their mentors, loneliness clutched his heart. All eyes were on him, causing him to squirm uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding their gaze and instead focused on the Speaker. The Speaker announced, "Many of you may be wondering why Blue has not yet received his Crafte assignment. Do not worry. We did not miss him out. But Blue is special." Whisperings. "The Council", she nodded at the seated row of Old Men, "has observed Blue over the years and feel that the Crafte of Artist should be given to him." A loud eruption of protests exploded as the word "Artist" was pronounced from the Speaker's thin lips: "But he can't! He's only _sixteen_" or "He doesn't deserve it!" or "Give it to the Ancients! He's only a boy!" Blue sat where he was, never moving. He didn't know what an Artist was. He never heard of it before. He glanced towards Vaon. Vaon simply looked blankly at him with a barrage of questions written in bold letters upon his face.

The angry mob silenced immediately as an Old Man stood up from the Council. In a weary but firm tone, he spoke. "The Council has reached their decision. Blue, step forward and receive your Certificate and Brush." Blue hesitated, thoughts churning like chopped fruits in a blender. He apprehensively approached the Speaker who merely passed him the Certificate of Crafte and said, "Thank you for your childhood, Artist Blue." And that was that. "Proceed to the Galleria to meet your mentor. Dismissed."

As the citizens filed out of the Hall, the enormous chatter over the last event that taken place that was temporarily silenced was resumed. As Blue walked out alone, orbs looked in his direction, some with anger, others with curiosity. Pieces of conversation filtered across to him: Worried tones that said, "He's so _young_. Will he be able to…?" Young children's voices commenting excitedly, "That's such a special Crafte! Can I be one when my Crafte Day comes?" to silent parents that said nothing.

Blue didn't wait for Vaon. He simply walked towards the Galleria, a large concrete building that required a special pass to enter. There, he waited. Turning around in circles to find someone he had not seen before, Blue stopped, feeling the familiar nausea forcing his head to wind around again and again. Ceasing his current fascination with the twirling ground and surroundings, he pulled out the Brush he was given to carry out his Crafte with.

It was small, smaller than those he had handled before. Its handle was engraved with faded words that he could not make out. The tip of the Brush was delicately fine, like spider silk. Yet the edge of each thread was spiky sharp to his calloused hands. To Blue, it looked like a long needle and vaguely familiar, as if he had somehow used it before. He still didn't know what an Artist was, nor why he was chosen to be one. Shrugging, and assuming he'd find out soon enough, Blue tucked the Brush back into his shirt's cuff. Blue was like that.

After fiddling with his fingers and shuffling his toes for a bit, Blue peered around to ensure no one was around before sitting cross-legged on the floor and discreetly producing a carefully folded piece of paper from his pocket; the same one he had touched during the Crafte Day Celebration. He unfolded it and gazed at it, frowning. The pattern that lay upon the paper was not yet completed. Blue focused on the thin paper, his face further frowning in concentration, his fingers lightly exploring the paper like how a blind man feels for the texture of an object. Soon, thin brush-like lines and swirls exploded from his fingertips to embrace the paper in a barrage of majestically beautiful patterns. The patterns shimmered and twisted like a snake on the paper, constantly shifting as if adjusting to the paper in order to fit perfectly. Other random strokes of dotted lines, curved lines and dots faded in as thin tendrils of smoke unfurled from the paper while the wondrous pattern seemingly burned and etched itself onto the paper, completing the work of Art, shades of gray, black and white with a peculiar shade that was neither. Blue relaxed his tense frame, looked upon the stunning design that he had created and smiled. This exercise never failed to keep him occupied nor calm him down.

"I see what they mean when they said you were perfect for the Crafte." A voice near his ear commented, startling him with the sudden noise in the silent area.

"YAH!!!!!!" Blue jumped, scrambled away and stared wide-eyed at a rather young lady with long straight hair, a confident pose and who was now staring at him in utter avid fascination. "W-Who are y-you?" Blue stuttered out, shocked by the fact he had not noticed her arrival, hence completely disregarding her previous comment. He quickly hid his hands behind his back, afraid that she might see what he had done. The woman hrmphed, arched her brow, slapped her forehead and muttered to herself, "And I _thought _they gave me a smart one this time." She sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "I," she pointed at herself, "am your _mentor_, _Artist _Blue." Blue gaped at her as she introduced herself, struck dumb by her youngish appearance.

"Now, if you will, follow me." Spinning on her heel, his mentor turned towards the direction of the Galleria. Blue stared after her, still confused about his mentor and still sitting on the hard ground. Noticing Blue had not obeyed her instructions, the woman tilted her head to the back and shouted back in an extremely irritated and loud voice, "BLUE! HURRY UP AND GET YOUR BUTT OVER HERE NOW!" followed by more muttered cursing that caused the people around her to scatter like field mice. Blue immediately jumped to his feet and dashed after her distant figure, still disconcerted and utterly baffled by the strange turn of events that changed his smoothly flowing life.

And so began Blue's training as an Artist. For the next 19 months, Blue learnt various techniques in Art, or Shaping, as he learnt was the term that defined his unique ability and that his mentor, Shamil, was able to do. Of course, Blue learnt there was much more to Shaping than what he thought was just concentrating and letting it all out. Shamil was a very decisive woman well into her second Name-Sake years and had a rather volatile temper and a colorful language that was often polished to perfection. She constantly lectured on Blue's inability to be on time and obey orders gnawed at his delicate ears for hours at a time in her impressively ranged voice. He observed that her 'deadly weapon', as he liked to refer to it would soar like a flute blaring away if minutely annoyed or if she really blew her top, the entire building filled with her voice and echoed with it throughout as if a bomb had exploded.

Blue slowly learnt where the line of irritating her was firmly drawn, which was extremely delicate though there were often blunders. Shamil rather strongly stood by her mindset that Blue should learn by example and her word rather than a thick handbook of notes which most Crafte mentors provided to the newly assigned, which she snorted at rudely, saying that it was "absolute balderdash and utter…" before trailing off in another of her colorful rants at how incompetent the rest of the mentors were. Unlike Blue's warm and graceful patterns, Shamil's were more refined, had a bold, seductive feel to it, alluring yet somehow holding a hidden message of warning but contained none of that peculiar shade of color that Blue's had. Their job in the Shamil's own Crafte place in the Galleria was to create Shaping on garments that were then sent to the Dressers to sell for wear. And with the first lecture on something other than being late and disobeying orders, Shamil had quite firmly told Blue, "Remember _everything _I say, understand?" And Blue had nodded, and had remembered verbatim everything she had said, from "Control your Shaping, don't let it control you" to weird instructions such as "keep the Brush on a leather thong around your neck at all times" or "use your feet to touch the paper instead" at times.

Blue didn't question anything she had told him to do after the first time he had been smacked by her fan after asking why until one day curiosity got the better of his mind. Shamil was sitting at her untidy desk, eyes closed with fingers exploring the entire texture of the table, lips partly opened as Blue approached her. He cleared his throat, causing her eyes to snap open and glare at him from heavy-lidded eyes. "What?" Blue shuffled his feet uncomfortably before rushing out the question he'd been dying to ask since arriving, "IwaswonderingifyoucouldtellmewhyIamhere." Shamil's face took on a bewildered look. "Huh?" Blue took a deep breath, "You know. Why I was chosen as an Artist." He paused and lightly cringed, waiting for the familiar roar of her temper.

To his utter surprise, however, no big-bang-lecture came. Instead, Shamil looked at him calculatingly and pursed her lips, tapping her finger on her chin. "Tell me, Blue. Do you see anything different between your creations and mine?" Blue looked at her and answered seriously, "Well, Mistress. Mine has this rather interestingly curious thing in it all the time. Yours is there all the time but mine is as if it's always shifting about."

Shamil nodded, and continued. "You see, Blue. Both you and I are here for an assignment that's been going on since… Well. Actually since a long time ago. Our assignment is to find this thing that's called color." Blue cocked his head confusedly, "Color?" Shamil glared daggers at him and Blue clamped down his mouth. She continued impatiently, "The shades you and I see, the one that everyone sees. That's color, Blue." Blue rubbed his head sheepishly, knowing the next one might bring another torrent. "Then why do we need to find color if we already have it, Mistress?" He could see Shamil's hands begin to clench.

Shamil made a gigantic effort to unclench her fists and reminded herself repeatedly not to blow up. It was crucial the boy understood this. She sighed in exasperation, "Color doesn't just mean what we see and create, Blue. That shade you have in your Shaped Art is _color_, Blue. It is different. And _that's _what we need to find. Whatever you have; that's what we need to find." At that point of time, Blue's serious gaze cleared and widened as he slowly grasped what she had tried so very hard to point out to him. A wash of slight relief swept over Shamil as she spotted Blue's tremendous intent to understand. Then again, perhaps _showing _the boy to his face the actual, real proof of color would be the best option.

Said mentor stood up from her rickety table and approached the ancient, dilapidated chest where they kept most of the scraps. Rummaging around in a frenzy, Shamil finally pulled out a rather crumpled scrap of silk upon which Blue had Shaped a fairly interesting design recently while his thoughts were on home. Her long hair sweeping in a twirl around her, Shamil shoved the Shaped silk into Blue's hands with a single sharp word: "Watch."

Initially, Blue could not see the difference that lay between his previous Shaping and this particular one that Shamil had kept for a strange reason. He looked questioningly at his mentor, only to meet her set, focused stare at the silk that he held in his hands. Discerning nothing, Blue tried again. The usual warmth and caress that was constantly emitted from his Shaped work was there and the shades; he reminded himself about _color_; was the same… Or was it? Looking closely with squinting eyes, he found that unlike his previous Shaped art which only had minute shimmering of the strange shade, this entire Shaped pattern was solidly etched in that shade. His mouth gaping open into an 'o' shape, Shamil did a silent punch in the air within her mind; exultation that said student had finally grasped what she meant.

The silk scrap was shown to the Council. Congratulations were bestowed upon both Crafte mentor and student. At the official Naming Ceremony of the _color_, Shamil stood on the stage, next to Blue, the honor of naming the color belonging to both. However, Blue had rather awkwardly and shyly rejected, saying that it was only appropriate for the mentor to have the honor. And thus in the moment of triumph, success and pride, Shamil announced to the whole of Jemming, "After much deliberation and careful thought, the first colors of the many to come shall be named…Blue."

Said color's namesake jerked his head upward to look in shock at Shamil, and his eyes softened with gratitude as two friends shared an unspoken bond of thanks with smiles that could say no more. Applause thundered throughout the Ceremonial Hall, and Blue's being was overcome with bliss. He closed his eyes, smiled, and opened the orbs that glowed in a shade that could only be described as… Blue.

Thus continues the story of Blue.

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Hope you enjoyed it! Would LOVE reviews, constructive criticism and requests for original stories. XD THANKS FOR READING. 


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